


Caged

by ambiguous_nights



Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Slavery, Whump, Whumptober 2020, Zygerria au, now continuing past whumptober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguous_nights/pseuds/ambiguous_nights
Summary: On Kiros, things go wrong. Obi-wan ends up in the hands of slavers.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950745
Comments: 43
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

The cage is too short to stand in. It’s only just large enough for Obi-wan to sit in, so long as he keeps his head bowed and his legs bent. It was originally a cage for a few tookas, but D’nar had removed them in favor of stuffing Obi-wan inside. The fight between them had been a carefully calculated distraction, right up until the point when a droid had come in with an ysalamir in hand. The fight hadn’t lasted long after that. Obi-wan was only human. He didn’t have the physical strength to rival a Zygerrian.

The lizard-like ysalamir is currently sleeping in a cage next to his. Killing it would be the only way to free himself and even if Obi-wan were inclined to killing an innocent creature, he has no means of accomplishing it.

Obi-wan leans back against the uncomfortable bars of the cage and hopes Anakin is on his way. It is rather embarrassing to be in need of rescue again, but its far better than being carted off to Dooku. 

Obi-wan shifts his weight, trying to ease the growing numbness in his legs. It won’t be long before they start to cramp. It’s an unfortunate reality but refusing to acknowledge what’s coming isn’t going to make it easier to face. It’s better to deal with the dread and anxiety now than to let it fester and later destroy him.

Obi-wan opens his eyes at the sound of clanking metal feet. A small squadron of B1s enters the room with D’nar just behind them.

“Your forces have been occupied,” D’nar says. “It looks like you’ll have to get used to life in a cage.”

Obi-wan scowls up at him, then jerks when metal fingers poke into his back. He shifts awkwardly as his cage is lifted into the air. Obi-wan throws himself against the bars. The droids fumble and nearly lose their grip, but D’nar catches the cage before it can fall.

“Incompetent droids,” D’nar growls.

Obi-wan shifts again, but the droids are prepared this time. He needs to buy more time. Whatever it is that’s keeping Anakin can’t hold him off for long. Obi-wan needs to still be here when Anakin arrives.

He succeeds only in battering his bruised body when he throws himself against the bars again. D’nar snickers but says nothing. The remaining droid grabs the ysalamir and carries it after them.

They leave the tower behind. In the distance Obi-wan can see smoke. That must be whatever battle Anakin is engaged in.

He hastily draws his fingers away from the base of the cage to prevent them from being squished as the droids toss the cage to the floor of a freighter. “You’re making a mistake,” Obi-wan says. “The Republic won’t let you get away with this. They’ll come after me, and when they do, they won’t leave you alive.”

D’nar smiles. “The Republic thinks you’re going to Dooku,” D’nar says, holding up Obi-wan’s comm. “I’ll make sure the trail leads there, but no, I have different plans for you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“All in good time,” D’nar says with a laugh as the droids secure the cage to the floor. “My queen is quite interested in you.”

Obi-wan stares at the ship doors as they slowly creep closed. Anakin is nowhere in sight. He can only hope that Anakin gets here soon. Otherwise Obi-wan is going to be in a mess he isn’t sure he can get out of.


	2. Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning- slavery, violence, humiliation

The ship doors open and a blast of hot air rolls in. Obi-wan squints into the blinding light, his eyes struggling to adjust after hours in the dimly lit cargo bay.

“Welcome to Zygerria, Jedi,” D’nar says as he drags Obi-wan’s cage out into the light.

“It’s a bit warm for my tastes,” Obi-wan says. D’nar growls at him, but he can’t hit Obi-wan like he clearly wants to, not after Obi-wan got a hold of his electrowhip and destroyed it when D’nar had been too careless with his strikes. Unfortunately, D’nar had stopped toying with Obi-wan after that, depriving Obi-wan of his chance of irritating D’nar into opening the cage.

“I thought you were sending more Togruta,” a gravelly voice says. Obi-wan looks up at the lanky Zygerrian that had approached. Gold adorns their boots and sleeves, denoting a higher status than D’nar, but not so high as royalty. Probably a royal advisor of some sort if Obi-wan were to guess. They look down at Obi-wan with disdain before turning to D’nar. “We don’t need more useless humans.”

“He’s mine,” D’nar says.

The man raises an eyebrow, then turns back to D’nar. “The queen wishes to congratulate you on your work on Kiros. It was most impressive. I’ll be sure to send someone to offload your ship.”

“The human and the lizard are coming with me,” D’nar says.

“Surely it would be easier to just leave him here,” the man says, but immediately shrinks back when D’nar steps closer, easily overshadowing the other man. The man hastily waves over a pair of Trandoshans, both of them with collars around their neck.

“Be careful with him,” D’nar says. “He’s a slippery bastard.”

The Trandoshans look Obi-wan over, then seem to dismiss him. No doubt they’ve had to deal with hundreds of new slaves before and aren’t overly concerned by a single human. One of them unlocks his cage and Obi-wan lunges. He makes it past the first but the second catches his ankle and yanks him back. Obi-wan instinctively reaches to the Force for help, but it slips from his grasp.

A heavy hand lands on his chest, keeping him pinned. The other Trandoshan approaches with a shock collar and Obi-wan’s world narrows to just this moment. He can’t let them put the shock collar on. The moment he does, he’ll have no chance of running, no chance of fighting, no chance of anything but to wait for rescue.

He kicks at the man holding him down, but without Force enhanced strength, he has no effect on the far larger man. He punches the other man when he tries to put the collar in place. The first man growls at him, then shifts on top of Obi-wan, nearly crushing him with his body weight, and grabs Obi-wan’s arms. The second fits the collar around his neck.

Electricity arcs through his body and Obi-wan screams. He reaches for the collar, desperate to pry it off now, but it shocks him again. And again. And again, until he stops moving.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” D’nar says.

“Really?” Obi-wan says, unable to stop himself. “I thought we were becoming friends.”

The collar activates and Obi-wan’s body seizes. Reality comes back to him as D’nar’s blurry figure bends over him. Obi-wan opens his mouth to say something else, but something is shoved inside before he has the chance. D’nar wraps the strap around his head and locks it with a small padlock.

Obi-wan pokes at the object with his tongue, realizing it’s a ball gag. He flushes with embarrassment. Of course, that’s the kind of gag they have on hand. They’d want to humiliate new slaves, not treat them as prisoners.

He glares at D’nar, but the Zygerrian only laughs at him. “Maybe you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut next time,” D’nar says.

Obi-wan itches to attack, to fight back, to do anything, but D’nar’s finger is hovering over the activation button to his collar. He almost wishes D’nar would just restrain his arms too. It would make it far easier to control himself.

“Come along, Kenobi,” D’nar says. “The queen is waiting.” 


	3. Branding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings- slavery, branding, dehumanizing and belittling language (its written from the point of view of a slaver)

Miraj leans back in her throne, watching the lanky female dancer, but not finding her to be of interest. She hopes Lasara will be returned to her soon. Lasara was always such a talented dancer, far all that she never seemed to understand her place in the world. Miraj had humored her, but the girl had finally reached the end of the queen’s patience. She had sent her to one of the reprocessing plants with specific instructions not to damage her beyond repair. The girl had screamed and cried, of course, but they always did. They didn’t understand what was best for them.

This new dancer is well and truly broken in, but she can barely manage a proper pirouette, let alone the more graceful moves.

Miraj sighs and runs her fingers alone the hilt of her shock whip. The girl’s step falters, but then she dances with more energy. It’s a slight improvement, but Miraj isn’t feeling particularly merciful today. She’s bored and irritable after a night of dealing with the minutiae of governing a planet that is only just getting back to its feet, but now there is nothing to do but watch this pathetic excuse for a dancer wobble her way through another song.

The queen snaps to her feet and ignites her whip. The girl tries to keep dancing, but she’s shaking and whimpering with terror. It won’t be particularly satisfying to beat a slave that’s already been broken, but anything is better than this.

“My queen,” her aide says. “Darts D’nar has returned from Kiros and has requested an audience with you.” Miraj very nearly smacks the slave for interrupting her rage, but the slave has a slight smile on her face. The Twi’lek has served Miraj long enough to know her moods and tastes, meaning whatever she’s smiling about must be good. “He’s brought you a surprise.”

No doubt the woman knows exactly what the surprise is, but she knows Miraj could use a little excitement today. That and she’s probably trying to distract her from beating the poor dancer. Her aide had always had soft heart for the lower class slaves. 

Miraj returns to her throne. “Let him in.”

The dancer scurries off and her aide opens the doors.

D’nar comes through, then bows to her. “My queen, the Kiros mission was successful. The entire population has been enslaved,” D’nar says, but Miraj isn’t paying attention to him. What has caught her eye is the man in Jedi robes standing behind D’nar. His neck is enclosed in a shock collar and his mouth is filled with a bright red ball. He flushes slightly when he sees her eyes on him.

D’nar shifts, catching her gaze. “I present to you, Obi-wan Kenobi. Jedi Master and Councilor,” D’nar says.

Miraj barely keeps herself from leaping out of her chair, then moves forward with appropriate royal grace and poise. She slinks around Kenobi, looking him over, matching him with the images she has seen on the holonet.

He’s shorter than she imagined, though she supposes he’s about the right height for a human.

He’s not restrained, but no slave needs to be, not after the collar is placed. And he is a slave now. He just doesn’t know it yet. He still stands tall and steady, still meets her gaze with his own.

There is no doubt in her mind that this is Kenobi, but she’ll order the appropriate tests, just to be sure. 

“I’m impressed,” Miraj says.

“I wished to sell him to you,” D’nar says. “I do not have the connections to sell so valuable a slave, but I am certain you could pay my price and easily make a profit of your own.”

“Yes, of course,” Miraj says. It has always been her custom to buy the unique specimens the common slavers couldn’t find the market for. She has far more connections than her soldiers will ever have. 

She waves over her aide, who offers D’nar a box full of credits that are well within the price range Miraj would have offered for him. They’ll haggle over it, but her aide will handle it.

She keys the control on her arm to Kenobi’s collar, then circles around him again. Perhaps she won’t sell him. It’s about time Zygerria was reminded that the Jedi could be defeated.

“On his knees,” she says to her guards. She certainly doesn’t expect him to obey her orders. Not yet.

Kenobi grunts when they shove him down. Their hands on his shoulders keep him in place, but he looks far too proud, far too put together.

She steps over to the fireplace and watches the flames. “In the old days, before microchips, we branded our slaves. It was a simple mark, but it was known throughout the galaxy. Those who saw it knew that slave was ours. And not even the abolitionists would harbor them because they knew Zygerria would destroy planets in search of escaped slaves,” she says. “We had a reputation that no one would dare challenge. Until the Jedi came. You destroyed my people. You destroyed our empire. It has taken us centuries to recover.” She reaches into the edge of the pit and wraps her hand around a metal rod.

“Remove his shirt,” she says. “And the gag. I want to hear him scream.”

A brief scuffle breaks out as her guards try to remove Kenobi’s shirt, but he refuses to go along with it. Eventually, they resort to cutting the fabric from his body, but Miraj doesn’t mind waiting. It makes for a lovely show.

The guards grab Kenobi’s arms and stretch them out. Kenobi struggles, but the Zygerrian guards easily outmatch him in strength. The last guard unlocks the gag and tosses it aside.

“My lady,” Kenobi says, squirming as he no doubt realizes exactly what she’s planning. “Surely this is unnecessary.”

“Not at all,” Miraj says as she draws the brand out of the flames. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

“Yes, I’m sure, but you’ll find that—”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish. She has no interest in hearing him beg or negotiate his way out of this. She will take revenge for her people. And nothing will stop that.

Miraj presses the brand into his chest and Kenobi screams. He screams for the long seconds she keeps it pressed against him until she yanks it away, not wanting to damage him too much.

The guards release him and Kenobi falls forward. His entire body shakes as tears spill from his eyes. Miraj smiles and sets the brand aside. With proper care, it’ll heal exactly as she intends, forever making Kenobi as a slave of Zygerria.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings- coercion, dehumanization

He stares at the bodies on the palace floor. His heart pounds as he tries to collect his thoughts, to do something, anything, to save them, but it’s too late. Their blank eyes stare up at him. They aren’t afraid anymore, just blank. Empty. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Do you understand now?” Miraj says as she hands the blaster back to her guard.

Obi-wan closes his eyes, then nods. What else can he do? How many more lives will she take if he doesn’t submit to her? A dozen dead slaves mean nothing to her. A hundred would be barely worth her notice, not when she deals in thousands of slaves every day.

“Good boy,” she says.

He doesn’t say anything this time as she buckles the leather collar around his neck and clips a leash to it. His flirty and somewhat vulgar quips had not been appreciated the first time she had tried to put it on him, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had always antagonized his captors, flirting with them, complimenting them. It was a way for him to take his power back when at his most powerless and to knock them off guard. 

But she had recognized it for the attempted distraction that it was. And she had shot ten people to punish him for it.

He sits back on his heels beside Miraj’s throne with his head bowed as she had first instructed him. He senses her delight and has to cool the spark of rage it ignites in him before it can grow out of control. Too many lives are stake. He can’t fight her, can’t even disobey her. She’s found his weakness and she will abuse it mercilessly if that’s what it takes to get what she wants.

Obi-wan bites his tongue to keep from speaking when she pets his hair. He forces himself to breathe slowly and keep still. He can’t let someone else die because of him.

It’s only been a few hours since he woke up in the healer’s wing with a fresh brand burned into his chest and metal bands around his wrists which were capable of restraining him should Miraj find it necessary. The Force had been returned to him when D’nar had taken the ysalamir away, but even with the Force, he’s helpless. Miraj holds all the cards.

And Obi-wan has nothing. He can’t talk, can’t fight, can’t even look someone in the eye without the queen punishing him for it. Rescue might come, but Obi-wan finds that he won’t be able to go with them. The queen had promised the death of thousands if he escaped. It would take a planetary invasion to save the slaves before she started slaughtering them. The Republic can’t spare the resources.

The bodies are dragged out of the room by slaves encased by sorrow and fear. And anger, he realizes belatedly. But it isn’t anger with the slavers, no, they’re angry at him.

His hands curl in his lap. He should have known better than to antagonize the queen. He should have known what she would do, should have acted like she wanted rather than fight.

This is all his fault.


	5. Whipped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings- slavery, violence, forced nudity, humiliation, dehumanization

Obi-wan carefully straightens the belt of the Jedi tunics the queen had made for him. Dread is pooling in his gut. The queen had kept him nearly naked for the week he’s been here. She had wanted to break him. Keeping him naked and vulnerable was just part of it.

But this is different. No doubt this is some new scheme to humiliate him, possibly before more of an audience than just her and the palace guards. She forced him to crawl around on his hands and knees and lick the guard’s boots. Last time he had hesitated she had nearly beaten a child to death in front of him. He hasn’t made that mistake again.

He knows she’s breaking him, but he has no way to stop it. The other slaves in the palace hate him. The only reason they hadn’t attacked him was because the queen has yet to let him out of her sight. She liked treating him like a pet, which included having him sit at her feet when the guards weren’t playing with him.

He can’t stand the way the palace slaves look at him. He’s only ever wanted to help. And now he can’t.

“Come on, skug,” a guard says with a leer. 

Obi-wan turns away from the mirror. The guard’s excitement is nearly overwhelming. It only makes Obi-wan more nervous.

He senses lives gathering above. Their aggression and desire are only growing with each step Obi-wan takes. He can hear the queen making some sort of announcement to a roaring crowd.

Obi-wan breathes in. He reaches out to the Force for peace. There is nothing he can do but accept what’s coming and shield his soul from every manner of torture that will follow. A blaster is pressed against his back as a door opens and he’s shoved into the brilliant light of Zygerria.

The sun beats down on him and the crowd roars as he walks forward into the arena. The guards prod him to a stage in the center. An auction block, he realizes. This is a slave auction.

“Whip the Jedi!” someone screams.

Obi-wan shivers as the crowd picks up the chant. Their hatred batters at his shields like an orbital bombardment. He pulls his shields up higher, but his time here as weakened them. Their hate slips through the cracks.

“Whip the Jedi!”

Something slams into his legs and he falls to his knees. He looks up as a holocam circles closer. He keeps his face blank as it zooms in on his face. No doubt this footage will end up on the holonet. Obi-wan still has some pride. He won’t let the galaxy see him as a shaking, quivering mess.

He won’t let them see him break.

The robes are ripped away. A shock whip ignites.

He wonders if Anakin will track him down any time soon. His former padawan would take great pleasure in blowing up every slaver in this empire.

The shockwhip slams into his back. The crowd cheers.

The whip hits again and Obi-wan grunts. Again, the whip hits with enough force to send him falling forward. The whip strikes again and again until the skin splits beneath it.

He screams. The crowd cheers.

The whip falls again. And it doesn’t stop.


	6. Minor Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS- slavery, forced nudity (not sexual), injury, minor character death, death of children, violence, dehumanization

Obi-wan whimpers and bites down on the belt in his mouth as the needle passes through his skin and tug the lacerations closed. There’s no anesthetic except opioids available among slaves, but Obi-wan had no friends here willing to give him any from their valuable stash. Even he did, Obi-wan doubts he would accept. Obi-wan would require more than the average human dose of exceptionally valuable painkillers, essentially taking it away from those who needed it more.

But he can’t help wishing for something to dull the pain as the thread pulls tight again. He’s too exhausted to use the Force to ease his pain after using it to heal the ribs the whip broke.

“Last one,” the woman kneeling over him says.

Her hands are steady as she continues to clean and stitch his back. Out of necessity, the slaves knew how to treat whip marks better than any Zygerrian doctor. There’d been no need for formal care, though that might be a good thing, considering the rumors he’s heard about how slaves are treated in Zygerria’s hospitals.

Gauze is laid over his back, then taped into place. “Alright,” she says. “You’ll have to change these tomorrow. In the meantime, try not to move too much.”

Obi-wan lays still for a moment longer. Holding still isn’t nearly as painful as trying to move will be, but he can’t leave the queen waiting. She’ll find some reason to punish him or, more accurately, someone else.

He groans as he rolls to his side. It gives him just enough leeway to bend his arm without moving his shoulder so he can pull the belt from his mouth. Flecks of leather are embedded between his teeth, but its better than cracking them or biting his tongue.

She doesn’t offer him a hand up. It’s not unexpected, even if it hurts. He’s the reason a dozen of her friends are dead and dozens more have been punished.

There are no friends or allies to be made here.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Be back tomorrow,” she says.

He looks back at her a moment longer as she sets to work scrubbing his blood from her table with more ferocity than is strictly necessary.

She wants him dead. He’s known it since the moment the others had dragged him from the arena and brought him here. They’d been too terrified to let him die, even if they all wished for it. He doubts the queen made any explicit threats to them, but those threats hung over them. The queen’s rage was not a trial any of them would likely survive. 

The stitches pull as he walks, forcing him to shorten his strides as he makes his way back to the throne room, much to his frustration. The queen would be more than happy for an excuse to punish him and everyone he’s interacted with today if he’s late.

Obi-wan bows his head as he finally reaches one of the side doors to the throne room. He hesitates a moment longer, wishing, begging, that he didn’t have to return. He’s already in so much pain. He hasn’t slept in days. And she’s only just beginning. 

He sighs, then knocks.

The queen’s aide opens it. “Welcome back,” she says, then scowls. “What are you wearing?”

Obi-wan looks down at what remains of the Jedi uniform. The tunics are gone, leaving only bloodstained pants and boots that are too small for him. Certainly not presentable. “Oh,” he says.

“Take it off,” she says as she hands him a damp cloth. “And clean up.”

He winces as he slowly peels away the caked-on fabric. She doesn’t berate him, but she has no reason to. She’s the queen’s aid, favored and well-cared for, exempt from the painful punishments inflicted on lower class slaves if he misbehaves. Her purpose is to make the queen happy, which is working in Obi-wan’s favor at the moment.

He scrubs the dried blood from his legs and chest. The brand burns when he touches it, but he can’t risk letting it get infected. The queen doesn’t need more reasons to punish him.

The aide takes the rag back. “The queen will be back within the hour,” she says. “She’ll expect you to be in your place.”

“Right,” Obi-wan says. He can do this. “Any other instructions?”

The aide smirks. “You’re learning.”

Obi-wan swallows the bile that rises in his throat. He doesn’t want to learn. But he can’t afford not to.

There’s no point in waiting any longer. He’d rather be in place before the queen returns.

Obi-wan shivers as he steps barefoot through the door and out onto the cool marble floor. He can feel the eyes of the guards as he makes his way to the throne and clips the chain hanging from it to his collar. He settles into the same spot the queen has instructed him to kneel in whenever she hadn’t been playing with him and directs what little energy he has left towards pain management and healing.

His eyes drift closed. His head leans against the arm of the throne. Too much bloodloss and not enough sleep meant his body was barreling towards unconsciousness whether he wanted it or not. Surely, a few minutes couldn’t do any harm.

Right?

\------

He wakes to a hand crushing his neck and nails digging into the too delicate skin. Obi-wan kicks out, catching his attacker in the side, then rolls them onto their back, so that Obi-wan is on top.

And then he freezes.

It’s not a droid or an enemy combatant beneath his grip. It’s the queen, her eyes glowing with rage and her lips curling into a snarl.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Obi-wan says as he scrambles backwards. The guards are on him a moment later, yanking his arms behind his back and pinning him to the floor. “I’m sorry!”

“I am not a cruel master,” the queen says as she crouches before him. “There would only have been a small punishment for falling asleep when you weren’t instructed. Afterall, you’ve had such a difficult day. But I cannot excuse this.”

His breath comes in panicked spurts as tears stream down his face. “Please,” he gasps out. “Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Her finger trails down his face. “Oh, pet,” she says. “I told you what the consequences were.”

“Please, I’m sorry. Please, punish me. Not them,” he says.

Her fingers tighten around his jaw. “Do not makes demands of me, slave.” She draws away from him. “Bring me the children,” she says. “All of them.”

Obi-wan sobs as he falls still in the guard’s hold. “Please, master,” Obi-wan says, the words ripped from his throat. Master is a title meant for teachers, for guides. Not her. But that doesn’t matter now. Nothing else matters. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

The queen ignores him. Obi-wan’s head falls to the floor as he hears the cluster of children’s footsteps, shepherded in by a dozen guards. Several are crying, snatched from the arms of their parents by guards that don’t see them as sentient beings.

They’ll never see their parents again.

And there is nothing Obi-wan can do.

A lightsaber ignites. His lightsaber. In the queen’s hands. The children are startled into silence. They’ve all heard the tales of Jedi and their glowing swords. It’s supposed to be a symbol of hope, of freedom. Obi-wan wants nothing more than to summon the saber to his hand and cut down every Zygerrian in the palace, but he would never succeed. Not alone. Even if he killed the queen, someone would still take him down and enact her threats. Thousands would die. And it would be his fault.

The queen swings the lightsaber.

Children scream.

Bodies hit the floor.

Obi-wan closes his eyes as the guards release him. Death bleeds into the Force, dripping over him and staining his soul. It leaves an ache in his heart he doesn’t know how to deal with. People will always die because of who he is, because of what he is.

He can’t be a Jedi. Not anymore.

“Thank me,” the queen orders. His lightsaber is still in her hand, casting a blue glow over the mutilated bodies of children still gasping out their last breaths.

“Thank you,” Obi-wan says. “Master.” He has no pride left, no reason to hang on to his identity. So many are dead.

So many more will die.

He crawls back to his place beside the throne. There is nowhere else for him to go. The queen smiles and pets his sweaty hair. “Good boy,” she says.


	7. Empty Shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings- slavery, forced nudity (not sexual), injury, violence, dehumanization, humiliation

Obi-wan opens his mouth, accepting the piece of fruit from the queen’s fingers. He swallows, then licks up the juices that had dribbled down her hand just as she had instructed. He isn’t sure why she would want that. Saliva can’t possibly be more pleasant on the skin then fruit juice, but if this is how she wants to humiliate him, then so be it. She can do whatever she wants, ask him to do anything no matter how uncivilized, how unseemly, and he’ll do it.

“Good boy,” the queen says. It’s nice to be praised, even by her. It means no one is dying and he isn’t being hurt. She’s been praising him more lately, petting his hair and feeding him small treats, trying to pull a few sparks of defiance from him. It won’t be long before she gets bored of him and sells him off to some new tormentor, perhaps even Dooku. He’s too broken for her now.

A cool breeze drifts in through the open windows. Night is falling. He can sense the sighs of relief as the workday comes to an end and thousands of people retreat to their beds to hide from the drunken slavers on the prowl. They could be brutal in their beatings if they found a victim that wouldn’t dare to fight back.

The last of the queen’s scheduled audiences for the day ends with the same deal the queen had given to every low level slaver that could offer her a dozen or so people. Apparently trafficking is a growing industry she is happy to help support.

A Jedi would have listened to and remembered every detail of the meetings, cataloguing them in order to make a report to a judicial officer, but Obi-wan isn’t a Jedi. He’s a slave. He can’t save people.

The queen stands up with a rustle of skirts and a clinking of jewelry. “Have my dinner sent to my room,” she says to no one in particular, but someone will hear and ensure it happens. “I have business to attend to.”

Obi-wan raises his head, wondering for a moment if she intends to have him crawl through the palace to her room. His knees and hands are already blistered and bruised, but the possibility of laying on a pillow, on a blanket, is almost enough for him to want to follow her. However, she doesn’t grab his leash, leaving him to spend the night on the hard marble floor at the mercy of any passing guards.

Obi-wan closes his eyes and curls against the throne. Maybe he’ll have a few minutes rest before the guards decide to have their own fun with the Jedi slave. The queen has already given her permission, on the condition that they don’t mark his face or kill him.

But it’s not the guards that he fears; it’s the palace slaves. They will come to avenge their children. And he will get what he deserves. 

One of the stitches on his back breaks when he pulls his knees closer to his chest. Blood dribbles down his skin, then onto the floor. It’s hardly the only blood he’s spilt today. Crawling around licking boots and performing tricks at the queen’s behest had already torn open several other stitches. She loved watching him use the Force as it should never have been used, but she liked it more when she could see his hesitation, could still feel him crumbling beneath every order.

A chill settles into his bones as the sun sinks below the horizon. He can sense the guards returning from their meals, enough alcohol in their systems to bring out their crueler side.

He could run. The leash to his collar is clipped into place, not locked. He could find a closet to hide in or a dusty corner that hadn’t seen the light of day since it was built. It wouldn’t be hard. The palace was old, built and repaired a dozen times over by slaves that had a vested interest in leaving gaps between rooms in order to flee from cruel masters.

But the guards never arrive. A dozen new presences reach his senses, passing between him and the guards, redirecting their aggression away from Obi-wan and the throne room.

He doesn’t have to wonder why anyone would sacrifice themselves to the guards for long.

The sound of bare feet on marble reaches his ears as several of the palace slaves emerge from side doors and windows. They aren’t supposed to be here, but the grief they carry doesn’t care about the possibility of punishment.

He’s the reason their children are dead. He’s the one they can direct all their hatred and anger at, who doesn’t have power over them.

The guards are distracted, no doubt as part of a coordinated effort to give them the time they need. They are free to take their revenge. Obi-wan won’t stop them. He isn’t sure if he could even if he wanted to.

\-------

Anakin jogs through the Zygerrian palace, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. The 212th, 501st, and the 104th are waiting a system over, ready to launch an attack on the Zygerrian capital at his command. Dozens of other battalions are on their way. With the video of Obi-wan’s whipping, they had finally had enough cause to convince the senate to authorize an invasion of an independent.

Anakin would have been here days ago if the senate hadn’t dragged its feet. Far too many of them benefitted from the slave trade to want to end it and others didn’t think it was worth the resources, but they couldn’t allow independent systems to kidnap Republic generals and torture them. That, at least, was something they could mostly agree on.

He follows his sense of Obi-wan’s presence deeper into the palace until he reaches the throne room. He smiles. Finally. He waves open the door and rushes inside with his lightsaber ignited to cut down the guards that stand in his way.

But there aren’t any guards. 

Not one.

Anakin slows. This has all the makings of a trap, but he senses nothing. There should be guards here, or even an advanced security system.

There’s nothing but a single huddled figure curled on the floor.

“Obi-wan,” Anakin says, all restraint and caution forgotten as he dives forward. He skids to a halt and kneels over Obi-wan, but freezes when he finally gets a good look at him in the blue glow cast by his saber.

His master is naked, pale, and covered in blood and bruises. Bandages that once covered deep lacerations, which have half their stitches torn open, hang loose on his back. The collar around his neck has chafed and burned the skin beneath it. Beneath Anakin’s touch, his pulse is weak and his skin is cold.

“Oh, master,” Anakin says. “What did they do to you?”

Blue eyes slowly blink open. “Ani?” Obi-wan says.

“Hey, master, I’m going to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

“No,” Obi-wan says.

“Okay, I’ll carry you. I just need you to—”

“No.”

“What? Come on, don’t be stubborn. You’ve carried me loads of times.”

Obi-wan slowly slides away from Anakin until his back hits the side of the throne. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? It’s time to go.”

Obi-wan shakes his head. His hand wraps around his leash, clinging to it. “You go. I’m fine here.”

Anakin tamps down on the spark of frustration before it can burn out of control. Obi-wan isn’t being uncooperative for the sake of being uncooperative. The Zygerrians must have done something to him, something beyond the physical pain. He knows for a fact that Obi-wan could stand up to torture for longer than a week if he had to. He’s done it before.

His stomach twists as his mind runs through all the possibilities. They could have got him hooked on spice or implanted with some sort of control chip or mood stabilizer or something even worse. Maybe they even tried to mind wipe him. Jedi could try to resist, but success wasn’t guaranteed. And even if they did succeed, mind wipes still caused enough damaged to the brain to result in Obi-wan becoming compliant.

But none of that matters. The medics will fix him, and if they can’t, the Jedi healers will. Anakin just has to get him out of here before the guards come back and try to take two Jedi hostages. It wouldn’t stop the invasion, but it would certainly increase the likelihood of both of them being killed.

Anakin won’t take that risk. It’s why he came here, hoping to extract Obi-wan before the invasion begins. He wouldn’t put it past the slavers to kill Obi-wan to prevent him being rescued.

“Okay, okay,” Anakin says. “I won’t make you leave, okay? Just relax.”

“Anakin, you don’t understand—” Obi-wan says, but Anakin doesn’t give him the chance to finish. They need to go. Now.

He swings a fist at Obi-wan’s jaw, aiming to knock him out, but misses by millimeters as Obi-wan leaps back.

“Anakin, stop!” Obi-wan cries. “What are you doing?”

Anakin scowls. “Stop fighting me!”

Obi-wan chokes on his collar when he scrambles too far back, the leash yanking him back to his knees. Anakin lands on him a moment later. He winces when the impact breaks open another of Obi-wan’s cuts, but Obi-wan will forgive him for it later once he’s safe and free.

Obi-wan tries to twist out from under Anakin, but he doesn’t have the strength after a week starving and enslaved.

“This is for your own good,” Anakin says. “I promise.”

“No! She’ll kill—” Obi-wan’s protests are cut off when Anakin wraps an arm around his neck and squeezes. Obi-wan gasps and tries to claw at Anakin’s face, tries to get some leverage to twist free, but its too late. His struggles weaken, then still, as he finally slips into unconsciousness.

“Sorry,” Anakin says as he releases him. He breaks open Obi-wan’s collar, then lifts the older man over his shoulders. He’s disturbingly light, far from the solid weight he should have been. The rage inside him ignites fully. The Zygerrians will pay for what they’ve done to him.

And Anakin will be on the front lines.

An alarm goes off as Anakin shoves open the window and leaps down to the courtyard below. It seems someone has discovered one of the dead guards. He’s surprised they hadn’t noticed earlier. He hadn’t tried to hide them.

He would very much like to turn around and spend the rest of the night cutting the heads of slavers from their bodies, but Obi-wan’s safety has to come first.

He dodges a few guards as he runs through the shadows back to the _Twilight,_ the sound of the growing alarm on his tail. Guards are pouring from their homes, armed with more shock whips than Anakin had ever seen in one place. No doubt the rest of the citizens will be called to arms within the hour, but they’re no match for the Republic.

Anakin ducks into his ship and sets Obi-wan on the bed. He hooks up an IV line to keep him unconscious. Obi-wan would probably try to run away again if he woke up. The man is far too good at escaping for Anakin to even allow him a chance to do so.

Anakin smiles slightly, then pulls a blanket over Obi-wan. He pushes Obi-wan’s hair out of his face and gently rolls him onto his side to keep the weight off the whip marks. “You’re safe now, Master,” Anakin says and kisses his forehead. “I promise no one will ever hurt you again.”

The alarms outside grow louder. He doubts he’d be able to get the _Twilight_ out of here without getting shot down now that the city is on high alert. Whether they think Obi-wan has retrieved his lightsaber and escaped or another Jedi has come to rescue him, they won’t let any ships leave.

But Anakin doesn’t need go anywhere.

“This is General Skywalker,” Anakin says into his comm. “I have Obi-wan. He’s alive and stable. You’re cleared to begin the attack.”

“Glad to hear it,” Commander Cody says. “We’re on our way.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://geodax.tumblr.com/)


End file.
